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letra de rib-eye - stay flee get lizzy

[intro]
(stay flee get lizzy)
(stay flee get lizzy)
slap that rottie on the back of a big bike
i know your mum heard this
now, she can’t sit right
my younger got a mash for a quid five
guaranteed, ain’t plannin’ on fist fight
you ever beat corn and them man in a jog bike?
and he’s cooked like rib-eye
i got his girl tellin’ me that i did it
i’m screamin’ out “how did i? how—”

[chorus]
slap that rottie on the back of a big bike
i know your mum heard this
now, she can’t sit right (boy)
my younger got a mash for a quid five (quid five)
it’s guaranteed, ain’t plannin’ on fist fight (none)
you ever beat corn and them man in a jog bike? (boy)
and he’s cooked like rib-eye (ahaha)
i got his girl tellin’ mе that i did it
i’m screamin’ out “how did i? how did i?”

[verse 1]
slap that mac on the back of the jigs
so wе do it like gob ’round here (grr, grr, grr, grr)
my younger on the drill, and he miss no stories
he don’t do subs ’round here in the drake (subs)
but to cool it, to make it real hot ’round here, but it ain’t land
so i tell my younger mean “rock with the dots ’round here”
anywhere that he tear
i’ma tell you that you own that block ’round there (own that block)
bro had six in the .4’s
and i had an m10 on cut, tryna fling him in the air
(fling-fling him in the air)
tryna ying my man, tell broski “bring him over ‘ere”
(bring him over ‘ere)
clips and chambers fillin’ over ‘ere (it fillin’)
they say “if you don’t air then the n-gga must fill”
p-ssed when corn l!ck his hair (boy, boy, boy, boy)
you might catch me ’round there, you on the outing (out there)
just know i ain’t runnin’ (know i ain’t runnin’)
my finger itchin’? i rub it (i rub it)
i try beat to corn on the boy over there (boy, boy)
but i was p-ssed, and it never pierced his stomach (boy)
i was a lil’ old n-gga with a rottie
in the rucksack, causin’ up ruckus (ruckus)
the sh-t that i did, you coulda stomach (stomach)
‘017, its stress weren’t fair (weren’t fair, it weren’t fair)
‘cah i came out of jail, and i started puttin’ pressure, dead
two plats on the backroad, press that breh (boy, boy)
we done it in a skoda, we done it off a honda
we done it with a short one
we done it with a long one
yeah, tell out your own stuff, but you ain’t own none (none)
tell my young boy when you see them, just—
[chorus]
slap that rottie on the back of a big bike
i know your mum heard this
now, she can’t sit right (boy)
my younger got a mash for a quid five
it’s guaranteed, ain’t plannin’ on fist fight (none)
you ever beat corn and them man in a jog bike? (boy)
and he’s cooked like rib-eye (ahaha)
i got his girl tellin’ me that i did it
i’m screamin’ out “how did i? how did i?”

[verse 2]
bow, you ain’t doin’ no civilian bootings (none)
marksman shootin’ if i see him, i’m tootin’ (boy)
i ‘cah did it, and they’re tootin’ (boy, boy)
my n-gga got a brand new star knife
i’m a russian man, putin
no, we ain’t gonna rush man, i’ll shoot him (i’ll shoot him)
’cause i dropkick man with the dots, ‘cah it lock
when it happens, who you think they’re accusin’? (who?)
she got a man like you, or a man with guap and guns
who you think she’s choosin’? (don’t be silly)
come on, now, let’s not be stupid
she on my nuts when i pull up on a new whip
meat that, jeet that, put it in the ubers
but when it’s got a glance
when @ was scrunched off the macs
and it could’ve been a [?], it could’ve been an uzi
(it could’ve been an uzi, uh, uh)
that’s so delusional (that’s so delusional)
but when i riz these t at the [?]
it’s gonna be a funeral (it’s gonna be a funeral)
i got [?] at my block ’cause i abuse it all
i ain’t got corn for some, i’m tryna use it all
i remember me and ‘gody, we was out of town
i’m pluggin’ in, and move cubical
‘member gettin’ bagged, and they never got the pack
and we still [?] (we still [?])
i remember when the opper try grab me
wet her in the pouch, had to cut up my pinnacle
(cut up my pinnacle)
i was 17 when i thought that i seen it all
‘cah i had the mac and the splash in my dad’s whip
and it was a year that i started doin’ some mad tings (some mad tings)
i ran up, and gave man an ad-lib (boy, boy)
[chorus]
slap that rottie on the back of a big bike
i know your mum heard this
now, she can’t sit right
my younger got a mash for a quid five
it’s guaranteed, ain’t plannin’ on fist fight
you ever beat corn and them man in a jog bike?
and he’s cooked like rib-eye
i got his girl tellin’ me that i did it
i’m screamin’ out “how did i? how did i?”

[outro]
(stay flee get lizzy)

- stay flee get lizzy

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